


Debt of Gratitude

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Magical manipulation, Manipulation, Repayment, gratitude, references to sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 07:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16280069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Roger owes Thom a debt of gratitude which he repays in an unconventional way.





	Debt of Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of manipulation and unhealthy relationship dynamics in this story. Please exercise discretion in reading.

A Debt of Gratitude

“I owe you a debt of gratitude.” Roger extended a crystal glass of Tyran red wine that glittered in the candlelight of his parlor to Thom of Trebond, the mage who had resurrected him. He could hear the magic in Thom calling to him like a mermaid out of myth singing a sailor to shore. He still had some of his power stored inside him (it took magic to perform the Sorcerer’s Sleep, to stay in it indefinitely, and to emerge from it) but it was a pitiful fraction of what it had been before his duel to the death with Thom’s troublesome twin. For now he could only conceal it as he maneuvered to regain it, and Thom would play just as prominent a role in the return of Roger’s magic as he had in Roger’s resurrection though Roger planned for Thom to be ignorant of that until he had sapped so much of Thom’s strength that he couldn’t protest Roger’s slow, steady stealing of his magic. “I know that wine doesn’t begin to pay for my life but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.” 

“Did you poison it?” Thom sniffed suspiciously at the glass Roger had slipped between his fingers, and Roger hid a smirk. The powder he had poured into Thom’s wine was odorless and beyond any magical detection save his own since he had created it not so much through sorcery but through a profound understanding of the properties of plants and herbs. 

“Why would I poison the man who brought me back from the dead?” Roger arched an eyebrow as he pretended to sip at his own wine. He didn’t want to risk intoxication at a time so pivotal to his plot but it would only raise Thom’s hackles more if he didn’t seem to drink. “That would be a poor way to thank you for saving my life.” 

Thom stared into the ocean depths of Roger’s eyes, obviously plumbing for the lies swimming there. When he found none because Roger intended to charm Thom, not poison him, he took a tentative swallow. 

Thom didn’t praise the wine but he did drink it at an ever faster rated, which Roger interpreted as a sign that it was tantalizing and tingling his tongue. 

When Thom’s pupils were dilated with the heady combination of Roger’s secret powder and the alcohol, Roger brushed a palm across the satin sleeve of Thom’s doublet, inquiring solicitiously, “Has Delia thanked you for your role in my resurrection?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Thom’s haughtiness had a dazed undercurrent that made Roger’s veins throb with the thrill of the hunt. 

“I know that she was flirting with you.” Roger’s fingers drifted back to the sleeve of Thom’s doublet, stroking its length until Thom shivered beneath his touch, and Roger savored the vengeance of having such power over the twin of his mightiest foe. “I was wondering if she’d gone beyond flirtation to thank you properly for your service to me.” 

“I’ve never been in your service”—Thom, egotistical as his twin, bristled, and Roger chuckled inside at how easily this prideful young mage could be manipulated—“and I’m not interested in being thanked by Lady Delia. I didn’t resurrect you to earn her gratitude.” 

“No.” Roger gave his most dazzling smile as he revealed the secret that could destroy Thom as Thom’s twin had tried to undo Roger. “I suspect that you’d be more interested in Alexander of Tirragen’s gratitude.” 

When Thom gaped at him like a fish yanked out of water in a net, Roger went on, smooth as ice, “Don’t look so shocked. I know he was flirting with you in the shadows, but he didn’t dare do more than flirt.” 

Alex, Roger was confident, would never dare to be unfaithful to him. Even flirting with Thom to prod Thom into resurrecting Roger had been closer to infidelity than Alex would have come for any reason other than restoring Roger to life and power. After all, Alex understood that he would be punished severely for any disloyalty, and he had learned to serve faithfully when he was Roger’s squire. 

“It was rude of Alexander not to express his gratitude.” Roger glided his hand beneath Thom’s doublet, rubbing his thumb along skin that would soon be feverish once Roger started to leech his magic. “I will be more articulate.” 

Thom’s lips parted to pose a question that was forever silenced by Roger puckering his mouth firmly over Thom’s. His lips slide along Thom’s as Thom gasped, “What are you doing?” 

“Kissing you.” Roger took advantage of the fact that Thom had opened his mouth to tickle Thom’s tongue, teasing another gasp out of the younger mage whose naivety made him so deliciously vulnerable to Roger’s machinations. “Didn’t you learn anything from the Mithran priests when you studied in the City of the Gods?” 

“Mithran priests take vows of celibacy.” Thom’s tongue curled as Roger’s swirled around it. 

“How many men—especially priests—keep their vows?” Roger’s tongue danced across Thom’s like an eel. 

“I meant they wouldn’t teach me anything about kissing.” Thom’s tongue floundered for freedom but Roger didn’t allow it to escape. 

“Many boys who’ve studied at the cloisters have different accounts—accounts of kissing, fondling, and even penetration.” Roger pushed and pulled at Thom’s stiffening nipples until he drew a moan that was as tortured as it was aroused from Thom. Thom’s cheeks were flushed cherries whether from Roger’s toying with his body or because he had heard the thousands of rumors about Mithran priests forcing themselves onto novices for their own perverse pleasure. If even half the whispers that had reached Roger’s ears were true, most boys entrusted to the Mirthran monasteries regularly had their anuses ripped by priests in exchange for private lessons that allowed them to advance more rapidly through the ranks. “The boys say the monks claim that intercourse between a man and a boy doesn’t violate their vows of celibacy, and thus the boys receive a very detailed sexual education from the monks.” 

“I’m a virgin,” snapped Thom but the tent in his breeches implied that he didn’t wish to remain one. 

“I can teach you everything the monks didn’t.” Roger’s hand drifted down to cup the swelling between Thom’s legs. “It’ll be my way of repaying the monks for you resurrecting me.”

Thom didn’t argue with this arrangement as Roger unbuttoned his breeches and coaxed them down to his knees before guiding Thom onto the sofa. It was only as he propped Thom onto a pillow, exposing Thom’s anus for his exploration, that Thom repeated tremulously, “I’m a virgin.” 

“You said that.” Roger traced a finger along Thom’s entrance, smirking as it quivered with the uncertainty of how gentle Roger’s penetration would be. “I’ll be gentle, of course, since I’m repaying you for your service to me. As long as you remain faithful to me, I’ll be gentle, but if you betray me, I’m afraid I’ll have to be rough with you.” 

The hand that wasn’t fingering Thom grabbed a bottle of oil from the table beside the sofa. Rubbing it into Thom’s anus, he felt a surge of satisfaction as he contemplated how it would flood Thom with ecstasy while binding him to Roger’s will and addicting him to the pleasure only Roger could provide. 

When he penetrated Thom, the waves of euphoria rocking him as he pounded into a panting Thom, he felt Thom’s magic mingle with his as they became one in an ancient rhythm that generated unfathomable power. With their magics merged in the tangle of their flesh, Roger could siphon all the power he required from Thom, forging the bond that would allow him to draw strength from Thom even when they were no longer entwined in intercourse. 

Thom, he thought as he curved his hand along the ragged indents of Thom’s heaving ribs, had been as simple to mold to his desires as clay was to the designs of a sculptor. Thom’s magic would fuel Roger’s vengeance against his family and against Tortall. It was, Roger decided as he released his pleasure into Thom’s tight warmth, appropriate to see Thom splayed open beneath him, the silver evidence of Roger’s use trickling from his crack in a salty stream.


End file.
